


Cursed: Dirty Laundry

by sunalso



Series: Curse-verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: The summer after Cursed, Joyce, with the help of Lorenzo, learns a little too much about her daughter's boyfriend.I'm living on the edge and this is unbeta'd.This fic is a tiny, itty-bitty sequel to my fic Cursed and will make no sense if you haven't read that one (sorry!).  It's a treat for anyone who enjoyed all my craziness in that story!Archived at EF and AO3 only!





	Cursed: Dirty Laundry

_Sometime, Summer, 1998_

Joyce sighed, thrilled to be alone in a quiet house for once. Spike and Buffy were out patrolling, Drusilla was over at Xanders, and Dalton was researching something or the other with Giles at the Library.

All alone at last and what was she doing?

Joyce grimaced down at the basket full of laundry as she carried it up to Buffy’s room. Perched on top of the clothes was Lorenzo, happily chirping away.

Once in her daughter’s bedroom she straightened the comforter and dumped out the laundry to start sorting through it. Lorenzo fluttered onto the bed and hopped around excitedly.

Two piles of shirts, one entirely black t-shirts and one Buffy’s hodgepodge of style. Two piles of pants, one containing only black jeans. Two piles of socks, and one pile of underwear. Joyce frowned. Did Spike not have enough pairs of…whatever he wore? Her frowned deepened. She’d been doing his laundry for several weeks now and couldn’t remember seeing a single pair of briefs or boxers.

As for how she ended up doing his laundry…well, it’d been all mixed in with Buffy’s. And while there was quite a lot Joyce could ignore, the fact that Spike didn’t sleep in the basement anymore hadn’t escaped her notice.

Joyce exhaled and looked around Buffy’s room. There was a black comb as well as an open and half-used bottle of hair gel on the vanity. A carton of cigarettes with several packs gone was peeking out from under the bed. Random dirty, black socks were balled up on the floor. There was a pile of well used paperback books in an untidy heap on the top of the shelves, and a stack of CDs that included The Ramones and Sex Pistols was heaped next to the stereo.

Somehow her daughter’s boyfriend had just moved right in.  Her daughter’s undead, century plus old—Joyce’s nose scrunched up much like her daughter’s as she picked up a bowl that’d obviously held blood and cereal at some point— slob of a boyfriend. Joyce set the bowl outside the door to pick up on her way downstairs. She closed her eyes for a second. Spike could be an annoying pain in the rear end, but when he wanted to he could also be polite, well spoken, and charming. He watched Buffy’s back every single night she went on patrol. He made Buffy happy, and they were head over heels in love with each other.

As Joyce walked back towards the bed she noticed the corner of a notebook sticking out from between the mattress and the box-spring. Feeling more than slightly guilty, she pulled it out and opened it to a random page. Spike’s handwriting was unmistakable. It really was a pity they didn’t teach penmanship in schools any longer.

_I am a bird that has fought long against the wind wild/going nowhere/You offered me warmth, light, your hearth mild/loving bright fair_

Joyce wasn’t sure about rhyming ‘nowhere’ with ‘fair’, but the lines made her smile anyway. She tucked the book back where she’d found it without reading anything else. Her daughter really hadn’t stood a chance. What woman wouldn’t want to be loved like that?

“Bloody Hell!” Lorenzo chirped as he continued to hop around the bed.

“You know,” Joyce said, as she picked up the socks and dumped them in the drawer. “I really don’t think Willow has a second cousin suffering from cancer that just happens to have a British boyfriend.”

Lorenzo cocked his head to the side. “Bloody hell.”

“I’m quite sure I know where you picked that up from.” Joyce scooped up her daughter’s underwear and dropped them in a different drawer. There weren’t any clean pairs of men’s underthings there, either. She opened a few other drawers but they all contained nothing but Buffy’s clothes.

Did Spike just not wear any?

Joyce’s eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. He didn’t wear any. Her daughter’s boyfriend went commando. She giggled to herself out of shock.

With a more normal laugh she shook her head. It was none of her business what Spike did and did not wear. She knew it wasn’t a vampire thing. Once in a while she washed Dalton’s clothes and he had normal pairs of boxers. She didn’t know about Drusilla since she’d always done her own laundry, and now almost all her things were at Xander’s place.

Really, Joyce thought, she should have cued in that something was up last fall when Buffy suddenly started putting her dirty clothes in the hamper, washing them, and putting them away with no reminders. What teenager did that? Not that body switching with a vampire would have been her first suspicion. Were there street drugs that made you abnormally neat?

Joyce plucked a handful of hangers out of the closet and began stringing up her daughter’s tops and Spike’s shirts. Humming an Elton John song to herself she made short work of the rest of the clothes. Hitching the empty laundry basket under one arm she held her hand out to Lorenzo.

The bird looked at her, hopped sideways, and squawked: “Harder, Spike.”

Joyce blinked.

Lorenzo puffed up his feathers. “Harder, Spike!” He managed to sound a bit more breathless. Pleased with himself he bobbed his head before tilting it so he could see Joyce.

She tried really, really hard not to think about how Lorenzo had managed to learn that one. How he’d heard it enough times to start repeating it. She couldn’t even get him to say ‘pretty bird’.

“That enough out of you, mister!” She shook a finger at the bird who didn’t seem put out in the least. “Downstairs, now.” She held her hand to Lorenzo again and he happily perched on it this time.

Turning the TV on low she left the parrot on top of his cage and went to find an unopened bottle of wine.

****

Joyce was contemplating the intricacies of the top of the counter when the back door banged open and Spike and Buffy tumbled in from patrol.

“Hi, Mom!” Buffy said, smiling. “How was your night to yourself?”

“I did laundry.”

“That’s not right.” Spike frowned. “You were supposed to rest or soak in the tub or the like.”

Joyce fixed him with a bleary glare. “Do you know you don’t have any underwear?” she asked, conversationally.

Her daughter’s face fell and Buffy tugged on Spike’s sleeve.

His eyebrows had shot sky high and there was a deer-in-the-headlights look stamped on his face. He swallowed. “Had noticed,” he said weakly.

“Spike,” Buffy hissed. He allowed her to lead him a few steps away. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay Mom?”

Joyce nodded. “Good night you two, sleep tight.” Buffy turned to walk off, hauling Spike along with her. “Oh, and Buffy?” Her daughter stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Lorenzo isn’t allowed in your bedroom anymore. Ever. Okay, sweetie?”

Buffy’s forehead creased slightly. “Sure, Mom. No problem.”  Buffy glanced at Spike, who shrugged. Their feet were loud on the stairs and the sound of the bedroom door shutting was deafening.

Tomorrow Joyce knew she would be back in the river of denial. In which Buffy and Spike read books while sitting, fully clothed, side-by-side in bed before giving each other chaste goodnight kisses. But that wasn’t helping right now. Instead, she was stuck thinking about the poetry writing, no underwear wearing…cad, that had her daughter telling him to give it to her harder.

When had Buffy grown up?

Joyce stood. She was going to need more wine.


End file.
